


Shade's Journal Six

by Devilc



Series: Shade's Journals [6]
Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Starman (Comics)
Genre: D/s, Dubious Consent, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack learns that some lines should not be crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shade's Journal Six

**Author's Note:**

> A story whose ending took me completely by surprise as I wrote it.

I've given in, I let Jack talk me into having a phone. Actually, it is not that bad; modern conveniences such as the ability to turn the ringer off, the answering machine, caller id, and call blocking make it almost nice. Jack's even gone so far as to have my calls made untraceable(Apparently, the phone company affords certain privileges to the superhero elite  the phone is in Jack's name.) I've blocked all numbers except for the O'Dares, the Knights, and Jay Garrick.

These summer nights have been quite warm lately, making me bored and restless, so I popped over to Jack's. He greeted me with his usual enthusiasm.

"What do you think I got you a fucking phone for?"

"So I could make prank phone calls to uptight superheroes."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, but I did. None of the interesting numbers are in the phone book, so I took the liberty of inspecting your rolodex. Some of the comments you made about those women were positively indecent."

Jack put his head in his hands and groaned something that sounded like "Why me?"

"Did you know that the Batman has a butler with a tongue like a razor? 'Twas the wittiest conversation I've had in days."

"You crank called Batman?! That is so fucking cool!" Then, "Man, he is relentless, he's going to find out."

"So? What's he going to do, kill me?"

"No. But that's not the point. The phone is in my name, and he doesn't even like me to begin with, you ass!"

"Oh. Sorry. Do you think he will kill you? No?....Then you have nothing to worry about." Putting on my most petulant voice I continued, "I'm bored, that makes me dangerous. Amuse me."

We ended up going out for coffee at the most arty and pretentious coffee house in Opal city. "Casa Java"  why is it that coffee houses must have such punishing names? had dim lighting, ratty broken down furnishings, walls festooned with bad art, dirty floors, air heavy with smoke, and overpriced coffee. To top it off, it was "open mike night", so our ears faced the assaults of "spoken word art" , a.k.a. "bad poetry."

After the first speaker had finished his rant, I leaned over to Jack and said, "If Oscar were still with us, he would chew, swallow, and digest this pissant."

"Yeah, It's so bad it's good isn't it?"

I groaned inwardly. I saw that it would be a long night.

We spent the rest of the evening arguing, in his car, in the elevator, in his apartment. I viewed this so called art as nothing more than the shapeless and poorly thought out rants of a spoiled generation. Jack viewed it as "Art of the new age."

"They've thrown it all away, Shade, don't you see? They've thrown out all the 'quote' rules about what is poetry, what the Greeks thought a public speaker ought to do, they've taken it and thrown it out the window. This is the oratory of the postmodern age. They are hammering out the new rules, the new standards of what is good  and we've got the ringside seats."

Whatever. I cringe that I will have to live in the age that inherits the new "rules."

Still debating, we ended up on the roof of Jack's apartment complex accompanied by a blanket, glasses, and a bottle of Robert Mondavi burgundy. Jack had just poured the first glass and had begun to point out the flaws in the Johnsonian world view when our eyes met. In that instant, everything clicked. Sublimated desires burst free. Our lips met for a hard, bruising kiss; our hands yanked at clothing, tearing seams, sending buttons flying. Somewhere, dimly, I heard the wineglass fall over and shatter on the concrete. I did not care, all that mattered was this moment, our brutal, gasping embrace, the warm night air on our bodies.

Jack pushed me roughly to the blanket and pinned me with his body. Our engorged members chafed as he assaulted my mouth his, his hands roughly, urgently roaming over my body, claiming it for his. He found that spot on my neck and savagely worked it as I moaned with delight. I knew that tomorrow I would find a mark there, but I did not care, such was the price of this pleasure. I gave him measure for measure, raking my fingers down his back, spurring him on.

Suddenly he broke off and stood, and I knowing what he wanted, knelt and took his swollen tool into my mouth. Without warning, he took my head in his hands, forcing his considerable length down my throat, ramming me, forcing me to take him at the speed and depth he desired. I gagged and coughed, tears streamed from my eyes, and as my lust built so did my rage. I dared not use my "talents" yet for fear of killing him in the heat of my rage. How dare he use me like this!

He shuddered against me and my throat filled with his hot salty liquid. I managed to choke it down.

Jack stared down at me with a smug and almost cruel expression until he met my eyes. Though blinking through tears my fury was unmistakable. In an instant his expression changed to fear.

"That's right, Jack," I said in a raw voice as I shakily climbed to my feet, "You crossed a line, and now you're going to get yours." I punched him once, hard in the face. A trickle of blood ran down from his split lip. I swelled to an extremity.

Throwing him face down to the ground, I barked, "On your knees, face to the floor." He didn't move fast enough so I kicked him in the ribs. He'd have a nice set of bruises come the morrow. Positioning my self behind him, I drove home with fury that surprised even me. He took it like a man, moaning softly.

I had intended to hurt him, but where would that get me? This was Jack, the only person for whom I had any deep and abiding feelings, and I did not want to irretrievably ruin our relationship. Besides, the minute his tight tube closed about my swollen member, such a shock of pleasure ran through me that my anger (well, most of it) melted away, and I gave into my desire. I would torment him a different way.

I slowly, deliberately stroked in and out of him, rubbing my cockhead over that special spot, from the change in the timbre of his moans, I knew that abject terror had become pleasure. Good. Reaching around, I felt his stiffening desire. Even better. I took my hand away and raced to the finish, biting my lip to contain my cry of pleasure as I discharged my seed deep within him.

Languidly, dreamily, I pulled out, and Jack rolled over ready for action  again.

"Shade, please..." he begged.

"No. Never do that to me again, Jack. I won't be so gentle." His groans followed me as I formed a doorway of shadow and stepped through.


End file.
